Fate of the Mage (Skyelorn Chronicles #3)

The New Archduke

There was an air of anticipation hanging over the halls of the Magiran palace like a thick blanket. Everywhere he went, Sabin felt as though he were interrupting gossip, the tail ends of whispers and theories trailing off into awkward silence at his presence. Even in the dining room at breakfast, the waiting staff all seemed to hold their breaths as they stood at attention along the ornate walls.

          It had been three days since the airship docks had been destroyed—by his own hand, though that wasn't public knowledge—and Marithyda had made a very aggressive stand against Empress Bethesda and her royal guard. Such a thing had never happened in Magus Opté in the last one thousand years, and though Sabin was still a newcomer to the kingdom he could sense that the attack had everyone on edge.

          Today, finally, the Empress was going to address the kingdom in the heart of the capitol and set the circulating rumors about the rogue Princess to rest. And though Sabin knew her better than most, the Empress's motives still evaded his full understanding. Following Marithyda's dramatic departure, he hadn't seen the Empress for even a second. She'd been keeping to herself more than usual, though Sabin couldn't blame her. The accusations Marithyda had fired at her weren't exactly something you could easily bounce back from.

          Sabin threw the hood of his cloak over his head and pushed through the towering front doors of the palace, entering the courtyard. Cleaning crews were still removing ash and debris from the ruined docks, and already he could see huddles of engineers and designers fast at work planning for the construction of a new airship fleet. He kept to the shadows, still paranoid that every pair of eyes were boring into his own, accusing him of ... what, exactly? Everything that he did, he did because the Empress demanded it of him. If he had to bear their blame, so be it.

          Every time he blinked, or even tried to go to sleep, the emerald glow of enchanted flame encroached from the dark spaces of his mind. He thought of the Empress's defeated look when she finally revealed the prophecy to him, just days before. She'd never looked more like a mother to him than in that moment, as she mourned the fate of her only daughter. And Sabin could hardly stand to think of it without feeling as though someone were carving jagged shapes into his heart. The girl that he was closer to than anyone in the world—the brave, foolish, hopeful girl that he loved—was destined to stand against him and destroy the thing that she'd always sworn to protect: magic, and the people who possessed it.

          When he first heard the prophecy, he'd quite literally refused to believe it. But the Empress was insistent, explaining to him that for the thousands of years of Magus Opté's existence, not a single prophecy ever went unfulfilled. And so he had to make the hardest decision of all, rejecting Marithyda's love in exchange for his duty towards the Mages. Now he stared out at the Eternal Sea, stretching like a blank canvas towards the horizon, and his mind wandered to another kingdom across the water.

          What was Marithyda planning to do once she reached Karvoth? The Empress hadn't bothered sending any forces to chase after her, but she'd seemed completely sure that the Bethesdan Princess would return. Could she actually succeed in convincing King Harlan to aid her? Sabin knew better than to underestimate the Shadow Witch. But even then, would that really be enough to defeat a kingdom as powerful as Magus Opté?

          Sabin turned and made his way down the steep hill that led into Magira, the capitol city. He brushed his fingers over the dark stone ridges of the great mountain upon which the palace sat, overlooking the Sea. The Empress had specifically requested his presence for her address to the kingdom, and he'd given up hours ago trying to predict what she might want with him. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he'd much rather be in the Sieving ring, wasting away the hours by getting lost in combat techniques.